


Misbehaving

by parisian_girl, PhryneFicathon



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-05 23:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parisian_girl/pseuds/parisian_girl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: “Well, that went well. From not misbehaving to positively encouraging bad behaviour in less than an hour.” After a plea from Mac, Phryne goes undercover to help find a missing club singer. Her first challenge? The pianist...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loopyhoopyfrood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loopyhoopyfrood/gifts).



“Fifteen minutes, miss!”

The single knock and the carefree call from outside the tiny dressing room made Phryne jump. For a few moments, she had been lost in her own world - a world far away from the smell of makeup and cheap perfume and wine-stained carpet - and it was with a sigh of reluctance that she turned her attention once more to the lipstick she held in her hand. Her skin had already been smoothed with her favourite foundation, her suntan evened out and her eyes highlighted with dark mascara, blue shining brightly beneath the thick black lashes. Now all that was left were the finishing touches. Her trademark red lipstick. A spritz of perfume that was far more classy and expensive than anything else this room had seen. A touch of oil to smooth any flyaway hairs. And then she would be ready. 

It wasn’t how she had planned on spending Christmas in July, or her first week back in Melbourne. She had been dreaming of her homecoming almost as soon as the plane wheels had left the ground all those months ago, and it had always involved a speedy turnaround in London followed by a fast ship back to Australia. Cocktails - there were always cocktails involved. Mr Butler’s home cooking. Gatherings of her closest friends in her parlour and garden at Wardlow. Mac. Dot and Hugh, Bert and Cec. 

Jack. 

Things had started to go awry, though, even before she had arrived in London. Her plane had given up the ghost halfway over France, and the rest of the journey had been a blur of trains, ferries, more trains, and London cabs. Then the weeks leading up to Christmas had been taken up with trying to prevent her parents killing each other, and the weeks afterwards with trying to salvage what was left of their estate after her father’s gambling debts had been paid off. The grubby Collingwood girl had come to the fore, using every ounce of her ingenuity and street sense - along with a few questionable morals - to save what she could of her family, and it was only when the first blossoms were starting to appear on the Hyde Park trees that she felt able to start thinking about leaving. And in all that time, she had had only one telegram from him. A short one-liner, that had simply wished her a happy Christmas. 

She had tried. She had started what felt like hundreds of letters, and gone to the telegram offices a thousand times. But every letter had ended as a screwed-up ball, hurled into the nearest bin or against the wall of whatever faceless hotel she happened to be in. Every telegram had been abandoned before it was actually sent. All her news - her jokes about how she was putting up with her father, her tales of the exotic lands they passed over, her despair and depression at landing in the midst of a London winter and the prospect of losing what was left of her family - it all seemed trivial compared to what she actually wanted to say, and she wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear any of it anyway. And so she had waited, saving it all for that homecoming she continued to dream about, hoping that he would still be there waiting for her. 

“Five minutes!”

“Thank you, Jake.”

She stood, taking a brief moment to admire the effect in the mirror. She was here to…well. Discreetly search. Or snoop, however you wanted to put it. Everyone else, though, thought she was here to dazzle, and she did both with style. Her dress sparkled and clung in all the right places, the scoop of the back showing just enough flesh, and the dark blue of the silk highlighting the glow of her skin - a glow that she attributed to the last five weeks on board ship, rather than the gloom of the British weather. She looked the part. Now all she had to do was act it. 

She had always quite fancied a career on the stage when she was younger. And besides, it was a very good distraction from her thoughts, which could otherwise have become quite maudlin. She had not heard from him even on her return. 

******

_Three days earlier…._

“Phryne?” 

It was her coming home party, combined with an early Christmas in July celebration - a surprise that wasn’t so much of a surprise, since Dot was completely transparent and she had tickled it out of Jane the night before. Most of her was full of the heartwarming pleasure of being home and in the company of those she loved most. The cocktails were flowing - even her Aunt Prudence had one, by the looks of her glass - and Mr Butler’s buffet-style dinner had not disappointed. But there was a small part of her, growing larger by the hour, that felt the emptiness and hollow disappointment that there was someone missing. 

Her name, and the touch of a hand on her arm, brought her out of her reverie, and she turned to see concerned blue eyes and a fresh cocktail being thrust in her direction. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Phryne nodded, accepting the cocktail and leaning into her oldest friend for a hug. “Just…”

“He’a a man, love.” Mac spoke quietly, her voice light but her eyes sympathetic. “Spines of jelly.”

“I’m probably not much better.”

“Probably not.” Mac waved her drink in the general direction of the mantelpiece, where Bert and Cec were trying to poke into the stockings and Jane was fiddling with the gramophone. “The mistletoe’s over there, though. In case he decides to show up.”

Phryne smiled absently, any throwaway comments about parasitic greenery lost in the sudden raucous blast of “Deck the Halls” from the gramophone, Bert singing along with gusto, but Mac’s hand on her arm gently steered her away towards the parlour door. 

“I know it’s your homecoming party.” Mac paused, eyeing the remaining contents of her glass before downing it in one. “And you know I wouldn’t normally ask…”

“Mac, what is it?” The serious tone in Mac’s voice caught Phryne’s attention. 

“Someone’s gone missing.” Mac raised her blue eyes to meet Phryne’s, the worry in them plain. “There’s a club, on Carlton Street. It’s not specifically for women, but it’s a known meeting place. It’s not your usual…well. You know.”

Phryne nodded. 

“The singer. She didn’t turn up the other night.”

“There could be a hundred reasons for that.”

“There could,” Mac agreed. “Except she was being blackmailed.”

“Blackmailed about what?”

Mac raised her eyebrows. “What do you think? Things haven’t moved on that much while you’ve been away.”

Phryne acknowledged it with the slight incline of her head. 

“And you know this how?”

“She confided in me. Not that long ago. I told her to take it to the police, but she wouldn’t. Said she’d deal with it herself. I’m just worried that….”

“That she’s dealt with it and landed herself in trouble.”

“Yes.”

“And you want me to look into it?”

Mac nodded. “Would you? I can get you into the club. Just let me know what you need. I just…”

“Consider it done.” Phryne raised her glass to her friend. Mac was right. She hadn’t planned on jumping straight back into work as soon as she got home, but on the other hand….why not? And if her friend needed her help, she would do whatever she could. “I assume the club needs another singer?”

*******

There had been no interview to speak of. Mac’s word seemed to be good enough for the proprietor of the club, one Miss Hancock, who - understandably enough, Phryne thought - had been a little stressed over losing her prize singer without so much as a day’s notice, and had jumped at Mac’s recommendation of Phryne as “the sultriest singer this side of the Pacific”. A little over the top, perhaps, but it had worked. The only questions asked had been about her ability to be discreet and her ability to improvise - there would be no time for a rehearsal with the pianist, who was apparently also new himself. Having reassured the woman on both counts, Phryne had found herself hired for a trial run, and it had been left to Mac to show her around and to introduce her to whoever they met on their way. 

“Not exactly the Green Mill,” Mac had informed her once they left the bar area. “They like their entertainment a little more traditional and a little quieter.”

“And I take it the clientele is a little older?”

She had smirked then at Mac’s pretended look of indignation. But now, as she took a peek through the door that separated the bar area from the offices, storage areas and “dressing rooms” before her slot started, she saw that she had been right. She couldn’t see a single person under the age of thirty. Lots of women and some men, some groups, some couples, but very few alone. Women dressed in men’s clothing, a couple of men dressed in women’s…no wonder, she thought, that the club owner had wanted to make sure she wasn’t the judgmental type. And yet the music, emanating from a corner that she couldn’t see and from a pianist’s fingers that she couldn’t yet put a face to, was quiet, soft jazz as opposed to the sometimes raucous bands of her preferred haunts. It was nice, for a change…and yet also somehow familiar, in a way that stirred her memory beyond the notes themselves. 

Maybe, she thought as she made her way along to the other door that would lead her out onto the little stage area, she had heard the pianist somewhere before. One of Aunt Prudence’s gatherings, perhaps. 

She chose her moment, waiting until the last strains of _I’m Nobody’s Baby_ had been swallowed in the general chatter and smatterings of applause. No point wasting the dress on a meek entrance. She had no idea what song would be up first or even how long her set was supposed to be, but she was prepared to wing it. And it would give her a chance to observe the crowd from the best vantage point in the house. How hard, really, could it be?

She saw his fingers before anything else, and her breath stopped. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the applause growing louder and realised that it was for her, that however good the pianist was the crowd were now ready for something different, but she couldn’t acknowledge it. She knew those fingers. Dammit, she had dreamt about those fingers. Fantasised about them, even. And now here they were, resting expectantly on the keys of a burnished grand piano. Waiting for her. 

She raised her eyes to the crowd, her best smile painted on, and then turned to him. She had to give him credit. Only she would have seen the momentary flicker of shock that crossed his face, the questions in those blue eyes - dear God, those eyes. She had forgotten how magnetic they could be, especially when paired with a dinner suit and a neat bow tie. And now they would be playing for her. 

_Hello, Jack._


	2. Chapter 2

**__**_No one to talk to, all by myself,_  
_No one to walk with, but I’m happy on the shelf…._

She knew the words off by heart. The lilting jazz of the piano lifted her voice and seeped through her body until she was swaying with the beat, every inch the jazz singer seducing the room. 

And Jack. 

_I know for certain the one I love,_  
_I’m through with flirting, it’s you that I’m thinking of…._

Was she hell. 

Mac, she thought grimly as she slid her arms provocatively over the rim of the piano, was going to pay for this. So was Jack. He had quickly recovered and had, she suspected, started how he meant to go on - using this time before all the questions later to tease her. Push her. See how far she was willing to take it. Punish her, perhaps, in his own way, for the lack of communication while she had been away. The opening notes of _Ain’t Misbehavin’_ had caught her by surprise, but two could play at that game. 

He could, she noted with some satisfaction, barely take his eyes off her. 

One after the other. The songs blended into one, each one chosen by him, her only cues the opening bars and a slight raised eyebrow, asking if she was up to the challenge. Slow and sultry followed upbeat and jazzy, and she matched him with all of them. Her hands lazily drifted over his shoulders as she swayed behind him, her eyes caught his in a smoky haze. 

_Rome wasn’t built in a day, kid_  
_You have to pay, kid, for what you get._  
_But I am willing to wait, dear…_

A duel, perhaps. A sensual one, that had her whole body tingling and the rest of the room blurring at the edges. Her voice. His fingers. A dance, although she suspected they were no longer waltzing. 

_I’d rather be blue thinking of you,_  
_I’d rather be blue over you_  
_than be happy with somebody else_  
_Will I be good? Will I be bad?_  
_Don’t be a fool, you fool…._

She had had no idea his musical repertoire was so varied. But, when he raised one finger to indicate they had one more before they were done for the night, she almost laughed out loud. 

_There’s something wild about you, child,_  
_that’s so contagious,_  
_Let’s be outrageous,_  
_Let’s misbehave…._

_*****_

They didn’t speak as they made their exit to enthusiastic applause. As she sashayed down the corridor, Phryne could feel the little world she and Jack had created slipping away, leaving her exposed and more than a little unsure. His footsteps were behind her. She could sense him, his aftershave teasing her and his warmth sending little goosebumps down her arms. When they finally reached the tiny dressing room she had made use of earlier, she hesitated for only a fraction of a second before taking a firm hold of the handle and pushing the door open. 

“Well, that went well. From not misbehaving to positively encouraging bad behaviour in less than an hour.” Mac waved to them from the stool, whisky from the bar in hand, but neither Phryne nor Jack really registered her presence. 

“Barely back in Melbourne a week, Miss Fisher, and already you’re interfering with one of my investigations.”

Phryne rounded on him, eyes blazing, nerves replaced with a boiling indignation and all semblance of niceties forgotten. 

“ _Your_ investigation? Actually, Inspector, I’ll think you’ll find this one’s mine. And how _dare_ you waltz into it like….like….”

She fumbled for a suitably derogatory name for what Jack was like, but his face remained impassive save for one slightly raised eyebrow. 

“Actually, Miss Fisher, this is definitely a police matter. A young woman was reported missing…” - Phryne shot an accusatory glance at Mac - “…and the case landed on my desk.”

“I wonder how that happened?”

Mac stood up, placing her now empty glass on the dressing table and stepping quickly towards the door. 

“I’ll just leave you two to it…”

But Phryne reached out a hand, her eyes never leaving Jack’s face, and her arm blocked Mac squarely at chest height. 

“Oh, no you don’t.” 

Mac backed up to the stool, sighing. 

“You know, this maybe isn’t the best place for this…”

“It damn well is.” Phryne glowered at Jack. “He slips in here after not one word - not. One. Word - for months, hijacks my investigation, and expects me to just play along? And you asked him to?”

Her voice had almost reached a squeak, but Jack just shook his head. 

Was that a look of faint amusement she saw dancing around the corners of his mouth? 

“Dr MacMillan’s right, Miss Fisher. Now is not the time. Apart from anything else, it’s probably best that they don’t realise we all know each other.”

“Which could be difficult if someone comes along and we’re all in here nice and cosy,” Mac chimed in. “Perhaps…”

“Sshh”. 

Jack’s warning had barely silenced them when the knock at the door came, and Mac and Phryne looked at each other. 

“Loleeta?”

A woman’s voice echoed through the door from the corridor, and Phryne shrugged as Jack raised one eyebrow. 

“I couldn’t be Phryne Fisher undercover, could I?” she mouthed as Mac rose from the stool and grabbed Jack’s arm, gesturing for him to hide behind the full clothes rail hanging in the corner of the room. He raised both eyebrows then, but there was no other choice apart from to be found. 

The knock came again, just as he had folded himself down and out of sight. 

“Are you in there?”

“Yes, I….just one moment!”

Phryne had reached for the door, but stopped as Mac grabbed her hand, pulling her close. 

Very close. 

“I need an excuse for being in here,” she whispered, her breath warm on Phryne’s ear and her fingers already tangling in sleek black hair. “I know you’re cross with me, but try and look like you’re enjoying it.”

Her lips were warm and soft, a delicious contrast to the swift, passionate kiss that Phryne knew would smudge lipstick and leave them both flushed. That was, she supposed, the whole point, and she let her fingers trail down Mac’s spine, nails scratching through the crisp whiteness of her shirt as she pressed even closer. 

“Who says I’m not?”

They broke apart as a quiet but distinct cough came from behind the clothes rail, and this time Mac didn’t stop Phryne when she reached for the door. 

“Ah, you’re there….ah.”

The proprietor of the club stood in the doorway, her eyes darting from one woman to the other, evidently deciding what, if anything to say, and Phryne looked sweetly at her. 

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted to say you did a very good job tonight.” Miss Hancock gathered herself quickly, giving Mac nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a stern glance. It seemed it wasn’t an unusual occurrence at the club. “Lizzy, it seems, has returned, but the job’s still yours if you want it.”

“She’s back?”

“Yes.” Miss Hancock turned to Mac, her disapproval of the singer’s wayward ways evident. “Turned up tonight wanting to know why someone else had taken her slot.” She turned back to Phryne. “As I said, though, the job’s yours if you want it still.”

“Alive?”

“Yes, Doctor MacMillan, of course alive.” The woman sounded a little exasperated. “That is, as long as talking the hind leg off a donkey demonstrates the presence of life to medical science?”

“Actually, Miss Hancock,” Phryne plastered on her best smile, “I think the job should go back to Lizzy. I can’t guarantee how long I’m going to stay in Melbourne, and…well. To be honest, I didn’t quite click with the pianist.”

Mac coughed to cover up her snort. 

“Are you sure?” Miss Hancock’s brow furrowed. “I can offer a good wage. Paid weekly. And a new pianist if that’s what you want, although the two of you seemed to…uh… _click_ , as you put it, very well to me. ”

“I appreciate the offer, I really do, but no. Thank you.”

“Well, okay then.” Miss Hancock looked resigned as she backed into the corridor. “But anytime you need a job, just ask and I’ll see what we can do.”

****

Jack looked slightly stunned as Mac pulled him from behind the clothes rail, tucking her shirt back in to her tweed trousers and smirking as he stretched. 

“Were you deliberately disparaging my musical skills, Miss Fisher?”

“Not at all.” Phryne shook her head as she peered into the mirror, wiping lipstick off her cheek with her thumb. “It was just a handy excuse. Since we now appear to have no investigation, I thought there were better things I could do with my time.”

“Speaking of which, I’m going to go and speak to our runaway and find out what the hell happened.” Mac reached over to Phryne and tweaked a strap on the dress, her smile widening at Jack’s expression. “I’m not up for a threesome tonight, Inspector, so she’s all yours.”

Jack spluttered, but before he could reply Mac was gone, leaving a lingering scent of whisky and heat and delicate spice, and his eyes caught Phryne’s in the mirror. A deep blue, as blue as the Pacific Ocean, with an undercurrent that danced like the waves. 

She had almost forgotten what those eyes could do to her. 

“I will need to speak to Lizzy too.”

Phryne nodded. “Of course. We both will.”

“But that can probably wait until morning. It’s late.”

“It is.” She breathed deeply, inhaling him this time, and turned from the mirror. Part of her wanted to make him suffer. But another part of her said that it had already been too long. “Nightcap?”

She saw him thinking, hesitating a little, and she stepped closer. 

“I guess that depends, Miss Fisher.” The low rumble of his voice sent a delicious shiver up her spine, his hand on her waist light and warm. “Are you going to fill me in on all the telegrams and letters you never sent?”

“Well, that depends on whether you are going to return the favour,” Phryne retorted, her hand now wandering down the lapel of his suit jacket. “But I was thinking we could perhaps save that for the morning too?”

He smiled then, a real smile that lit up his eyes. 

“Just the two of us?”

“Yes,” she chuckled. “Just the two of us.”

“And you won’t be comparing me to…”

“No!” She slapped him lightly on the arm. “Of course not. That was business.”

“And this is….?”

“Pleasure, Jack. Of course. But I should warn you, Jane and Dot might still be up. And there is still mistletoe around.”

He lowered his lips to her jaw, grazing them along her skin until he felt her tremble. 

“Christmas in July?”

She nodded, her eyes closing and a warmth spreading all over her body. This was more like the homecoming she had originally envisaged. 

“Merry Christmas, Jack.”

His lips reached hers, and she sank into the kiss with a sigh. She had imagined this so often it was almost familiar, and yet the tingle of excitement was unmistakeable. Perhaps, she thought vaguely, he would always be like this to her. Exotic lands and home, all at the same time. 

“Merry Christmas, Phryne.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas!  
> The lyrics came from these songs, in order:  
> I'm Nobody's Baby - recorded by Ruth Etting, 1927  
> Ain't Misbehavin' - recorded by Louis Armstrong, 1929  
> I Can't Give You Anything But Love - first sung by Adelaide Hall in a revue on Broadway, 1928  
> I'd Rather Be Blue Over You - recorded by Fanny Brice, 1929  
> Let's Misbehave - written by Cole Porter, recorded by Irving Aaronson, 1928.   
> They're all on YouTube :). 
> 
> **Prompt:** Phryne and Jack undercover in a bar/club for some reason with maybe Phryne singing or dancing and Jack playing the piano? Bonus points for neither of them realising the other was going to be there


End file.
